


Three Ghosts

by DanaFox1013



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Christmas, Christmas 1999, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Loneliness, Pre-Millennium Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21837451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanaFox1013/pseuds/DanaFox1013
Summary: Fox Mulder is spending another Christmas Eve alone, looking forward to yet another joyless day in the morning. After he goes to bed, he is awoken by the first of several ghostly visitations. Before dawn breaks on Christmas morning, will the ghosts have shown him the true meaning of Christmas?
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

December 24th, 1999  
11:21 p.m.

Mulder sat alone in his apartment, a remote control held loosely in one hand as he flicked through the channels on his TV. Outside, he caught snatches of the sound of voices, groups of friends heading home from the nearby bars or families making their way to church to celebrate midnight mass. Somewhere, he was sure that Scully was among the latter along with her family who he knew were gathering at Maggie's for the holiday. As always, he had been invited and, as always, he had chosen to decline. He didn't like the idea of pity invitations and didn't want to feel as if everyone was talking behind his back, the way he had felt several years before when he had flown to San Diego to be with Scully following her discovery of Emily. Back then, he constantly felt Bill's harsh gaze following him around and he had no desire to feel that way again.

He also had an invitation to spend Christmas with the Gunmen but had declined that offer too. A Gunman Christmas usually consisted of a mountain of Chinese food followed by multiple hours hooked up to a wide variety of video games or an epic session of D&D and while all of those sounded fun, he also felt as if the guys only invited him over out of some sense of duty rather than an actual desire for his company. His mother was away visiting friends in Vermont - she had at least made the effort to call earlier in the evening - even Skinner had offered to have Mulder over for Christmas lunch at his apartment where he too would be spending the holiday alone, but Mulder felt that spending Christmas Day alone with his boss was a level of tragic that even he was yet to sink to.

Instead, he planned to spend Christmas Day alone, as he had for the last several years. His token efforts toward the season were in place - his old childhood stocking was hung from the bookcase beside his sofa and a three-foot-tall bare Christmas tree was perched on the table by the front door after Scully had turned up with it the week before, explaining how horrified she had been when she visited the previous Christmas and realized he didn't own a tree. He had even gone so far as to buy a nice piece of honey-glazed ham from the delicatessen that he planned to have for lunch the next day. If he wasn't careful, he thought to himself, he'd be turning into Martha Stewart by next Thanksgiving. On the desk lay a small pile of presents he had bought too late to distribute to the various recipients but at least they made the room look more festive.

Finding nothing on the TV worth watching, he switched it off and flopped back onto the couch, taking a swig from the fancy beer bottle he was finishing up - one of a set he had received from the FBI Secret Santa. He had been dragged into the tradition last year when he was forced to work in the domestic terrorism bullpen and despite the fact that neither he nor Scully was assigned there anymore, the others had insisted in including them in this year's Secret Santa anyway after realizing that the X-Files department definitely didn't have one. Scully had been happy enough with that - she was one of those weird types that loved Christmas shopping - but he begrudged having to add Agent Phillips to his holiday shopping list when he knew literally nothing about the man. 

Over the last few years, Mulder's holiday shopping list had grown from meager to downright miserly. Scully, the Gunmen, Skinner, Maggie, and his mom. He always added a few charitable donations in there as well, mostly to make himself feel like less of a Scrooge, but he was still acutely aware that his entire list could be comfortably counted off on the fingers of one hand.

Finishing his beer and realizing there was nothing worth staying up for, Mulder washed out the bottle and made his way to bed, brushing away a slight stab in his heart at the knowledge that when he awoke, his stocking would still be empty.

December 25th, 1999  
12:01 am

Mulder woke to a cold rush of air flowing across the room. He looked at the clock and noticed that it had just passed midnight, it was Christmas Day, and this is how he was starting it. Cursing, he threw back the covers and made his way to the window to close it, but when he opened the drapes, he was confused to find the window was still shut tight. Feeling another cold blast at his back, he realized that the chill was coming through the partially open door - the open window must be in the living room. Pulling on his dressing gown, Mulder padded through the door but stopped dead as the room beyond came into view. Someone was sat at his desk. Whoever it was sat facing toward him but their face was obscured by the shadows cast by the streetlight outside. Slowly he began to reach for his gun.

"I wouldn't bother," a familiar voice said. Mulder's heart missed a beat.

"Dad?"

He flicked on the light and found himself face-to-face with his father who sat in the desk chair looking as old and worn as he had the last time Mulder had seen him four years previously.

"Merry Christmas, Son."

Mulder froze as a thousand emotions flowed through him. He staggered to the couch and sat down at the far end, staring at the apparition of his father who looked back at him, a kind yet also sad smile on his face.

"How much did I have to drink?" Mulder asked. Bill chuckled slightly.

"Not enough to account for this, I'm afraid."

"I don't understand, what are you doing here? How are you here? You can't possibly have faked your own death, I was there!"

"No, no, nothing like that. I'm still just as dead as always, only tonight I get to pay you a little visit."

"Why tonight?"

"Because tonight is Christmas Eve. I'm here to bring you a message."

Mulder's eyes narrowed.

"What kind of a message?"

"You need to change your ways Son."

"Ohhh," a smile grew across Mulder's face, "Oh I see. Yeah, I've watched this movie. Read the book too actually. Are you about to tell me that I'm going to be visited by three spirits?"

Bill smiled back.

"As a matter of fact, I am."

Mulder laughed. 

"OK, this is an interesting dream so I'm going to play along, but I have a question," Bill nodded to give his assent for Mulder to continue, "why me? I mean, surely if anyone should be getting a visit from three spirits determined to help them avoid an awful fate, it should be our old smoking friend Mr. Spender?"

Bill snorted a laugh.

"You don't think we've tried? Spender has received Christmas visits from me and several others but unlike old Ebeneezer, he has refused to change. The spirit world has given up on him entirely now, but you Son, you still have hope. I don't want to see you end up like me, spending Christmas alone every year with a bottle of liquor. There are people around you who love you and want to spend the holidays with you. Will you let us show you?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Of course. You have no obligation to go with any of the spirits who will visit you tonight. Spender ignored them all every time. But if you do, perhaps you'll learn something."

"About the true meaning of Christmas?"

Bill laughed again.

"Something like that. Or perhaps you'll just learn something about yourself?"

Mulder considered it. If this was a dream then it was a much nicer one than the usual nightmares he was plagued with during the small hours of the night. If it wasn't, then who was he to pass by the opportunity to meet three spirits in one evening?

Bill stood up from his chair, sighing heavily and somewhere in the distance, Mulder heard what sounded like the rattling of chains. He met his father's eye and an unspoken understanding passed between them which sent a chill down the younger man's spine.

"I have to go now Son," Bill said, "it's been good to see you once again. Expect the first ghost.."

"When the bell tolls one?"

The two smiled at one another.

"When the bell tolls one," Bill agreed.

Mulder stood too and took the few steps to cross the room and embrace his father, but as he did, his arms wrapped around nothing and he stepped back to find he was holding onto nothing but air. Shaken more than he cared to admit, he made his way back to bed and looked at the clock which still read 12:01 a.m. as it had when he had awoken. 

Frowning, Mulder climbed back under the covers and settled his head on the pillow. He still wasn't sure if what he had experienced was an elaborate dream, a hallucination, or something real. As much as he wished to discuss it with Scully, he knew she would be in church and would not appreciate a call from him to discuss ghosts - she had made that abundantly clear when she called him earlier that evening and their conversation had drifted toward their previous Christmas Eve at the mysterious house in Baltimore. Instead, he decided to wait it out and see what happened during the night. Would he really be visited by three spirits, or would he awaken as normal on Christmas morning with just the memory of this bizarre conversation with his father? He watched as the clock ticked on to 12:02 and closed his eyes. In 58 minutes, he would have a better idea of what was really going on and if he could get back to sleep, those minutes would roll by all the sooner.


	2. Chapter 2

December 25th, 1999  
1:00 a.m.

Mulder awoke to the sound of a distant church bell chiming the hour. This struck him as odd for two reasons. Firstly, when his over-active mind did deign to let him sleep, he usually slept deeply and didn't wake up for anything, yet tonight he had already awoken twice. Second, despite living in the same apartment for many years and spending many a sleepless night there in silence, he had never to his knowledge heard a church bell, and certainly not at one in the morning.

Looking around the darkened room, Mulder noticed a faint blue glow around the doorway that led into the living room. Feeling curious, excited and (if he would admit it to himself) a little nervous, he kicked off the blankets, stepped into his slippers, pulled on his dressing gown once again, and opened the door. That was the exact moment when all the breath left his chest.

Sitting in the same chair where he had seen his father only an hour ago, was Samantha. Only this was no clone, no adult version of the woman he imagined she had become. This was Samantha exactly as he remembered from the night she had disappeared decades before. She wore the same floral nightgown, had her hair in the same untidy pigtails, and wore the same mischievous yet slightly disdainful expression that all younger sisters somehow perfect within hours of their birth.

"Hello Fox," she said, and while her voice was exactly as he remembered it with all the cadence of a young child, there was something about it that was wrong. Too mature for the form from whence it came.

"Samantha," Mulder breathed, taking a further step into the room. "Is it, is it really you?" He knew instantly that the question was ridiculous, how could this possibly be his real sister? Yet some childish part of him still hoped that maybe, possibly...

"No, silly," Samantha said, but there was a sadness behind her chide, "I'm an image from your past, a memory given form for one hour only."

Mulder swallowed. "So, what, you're here to show me my past?"

"If you want to come with me?"

It was a stupid question and Mulder had to resist a sudden impulse the taunt his kid sister by saying as much, just as he would have done all those years ago.

"Of course," he replied instead, "how do we get there? I don't see a time machine in here."

"Take my hand," Samantha replied, standing from the chair and holding out her hand to Mulder who crossed the room and took it without hesitation. Instantly the room was filled was blinding white light. Mulder's other hand flew to shield his eyes from the glare that was painful in its intensity but as soon as it had appeared, the light faded away to a fainter glow. Mulder opened his eyes and looked around, his mouth falling open in wonder.

He was looking at his childhood home in Chilmark. The family was gathered in the living room, his mother and father, a young Samantha, and himself as a boy. He guessed that he was around ten and Sam around six. As he watched, the two of them were tearing into Christmas presents under the Christmas tree. His father was sat in a nearby armchair smoking a cigar and watching the children while his mother, wearing an apron over her dress, bustled around nearby, clearly dividing her time between watching the children open their presents and keeping a close watch on the various dishes that Mulder could smell cooking in the kitchen.

"Yes!" young Fox exclaimed, holding out something blue that tumbled into the shape of an item of clothing. Holding out the shirt, he spun it around to show his father and Mulder found himself smiling at the memory of the Spock costume he had positioned at the very top of his Christmas list that year. In his chair, Bill nodded his approval of the gift.

"Does that fit?" Teena asked as she carried a covered dish from the kitchen to the dining room. Young Fox was already ripping his pajama top off and replacing it with the Starfleet one.

"Yup!" he announced, "perfect fit!"

"Of course it's a perfect fit," Samatha announced matter-of-factly, having paused in her own unwrapping to say so, "Santa knows everything so of course he knows what size to make."

"Of course dear," Teena agreed, heading back toward the kitchen.

"Mom! Look!" Young Fox called, standing up to show off his shirt, he was holding up a pair of fake Vulcan ears to his own. Teena stopped and looked him up and down.

"Wonderful," she said with a big smile, "that was what you were hoping for, wasn't it?"

"Top of the list," Fox replied proudly.

"What did you get Sam?" Bill asked, looking down at Samantha who had finally torn her way into the gift and was holding it up.

"It's a fairy dress!!" she squealed, giddy with excitement. Behind her, Mulder watched his young self roll his eyes. "And it has a wand!!!"

"Oh! That's beautiful!" Teena was saying, watching as Samantha stood up and held the dress up in front of her, spinning around on the spot.

"Can I wear it for Christmas dinner, Mommy?"

"Of course you can," Teena replied before turning quickly on the spot to look into the kitchen. "Oh my goodness, the potatoes!" she vanished through the door and Bill chuckled to himself as Samantha wriggled herself into the fairly dress, not even bothering to remove her nightgown first.

The scene dissolved and Mulder found himself standing in the dining room as the family sat down to a roast dinner. They had now been joined by his maternal grandparents and bowls of mashed potatoes and platters of roast beef and vegetables were being passed around, every item presented on the beautiful matching china his mother had reserved only for special occasions such as these. Mulder watched his grandfather pouring gravy onto Samantha's plate for her and saw himself sneaking extra sausages onto his plate, no doubt to feed to their dog who was probably out in the yard at that very moment pining for leftovers. It looked like a scene from a Hallmark movie.

"We were all so happy back then," Spirit Sam said, almost more to herself than to Mulder.

"On the surface maybe," he half-agreed, "but underneath, Dad was already working for the State Department. Spender was visiting regularly and Mom and Dad were fighting at night. It wasn't as Hallmark movie perfect as this makes it look."

"No," Sam agreed, "but they tried. Mom especially. Despite everything, she tried her hardest to give us the best childhood she could, even though she must have known that there was always something dark lurking in the shadows. Waiting..."

"Yeah," Mulder agreed, "Yeah you're right. I should probably call her more often."

"Come on," Sam took his arm, "it's time to see another Christmas in this home."

Mulder looked at her.

"No. Not that one. Please."

"It's important."

He swallowed and nodded, taking Sam's hand as the room once again faded away. 

When the living room reappeared, it looked almost the same, just a few things gave away the passing of the years. Different photos sat in frames on the mantelpiece, the drapes had changed, and a few small items had moved or been replaced around the room. What really gave the time shift away, however, was the change in the demeanor of the people in the room. Bill was sitting in the exact same armchair, smoking another cigar. Fox was sat on the floor surrounded by opened presents, and Teena was sat on a nearby couch. It was immediately obvious from her spaced-out expression that she was heavily medicated. In the background Mulder heard voices, his grandparents were in the kitchen having a whispered argument and he was instantly reminded how they had arrived early that Christmas to make the dinner themselves. Looking at the tree, Mulder's throat constricted at the sight of unopened presents beneath it.

"It was so close to Christmas when you...when Samantha was taken that Mom had already bought all her Christmas presents. When I came downstairs that Christmas morning they were all under the tree with mine. I think Mom hoped that maybe, maybe if she put them out that Sam would just be there in the morning to open them like nothing ever happened." He felt tears threatening at his eyes and wiped them away quickly with the back of his hand. Spirit Sam made a point of pretending not to notice.

Across the room, young Fox had picked up one of his presents.

"Mom?" he asked cautiously, "Mom, look, I got that new baseball mitt I asked for." He held out the shiny new glove in front of his mother. She turned her glazed eyes from the middle distance to look at the glove and then to her son's face.

"That's nice dear," she said dreamily.

"Fox, your mother needs to rest," Bill said quietly.

"Oh ok," Fox said, sitting down with his back against the couch and starting to half-heartedly throw a ball up into the air and catch it in the new mitt. Silence fell heavily in the room.

Mulder turned to Sam. "Please," he said, no longer trying to hide his tears, "I need to see something happier associated with this holiday."

Sam smiled and reached out her hand. Mulder went to take it but before he did, he looked over at his mother and kept his gaze on her as she faded into darkness.

The room that materialized in front of him was strange because it felt instantly familiar yet Mulder was certain he had never stepped foot inside it before. He knew immediately that this was not a Mulder family Christmas, simply because of the level of noise in the house. Children seemed to be everywhere, running from room to room shrieking with delight, some bearing shiny new toys and all dressed in their Sunday best. The air was filled with the scent of food, everything from pies baking to meat roasting to sugar from the candy and chocolate piled on seemingly every flat surface. The ceiling was strung with garlands, as was the rail on the staircase, tinsel was hung with care on every picture frame, and snowflakes had been hung in all the windows. On the TV, 'It's a Wonderful Life' was playing and a group of adults was sat around half-watching and half-engaging in quiet conversations. Mulder looked between them for a familiar face and found one sitting in an armchair. It took him a moment to place the man, who he realized he had never actually met but had only seen in photographs.

"That's Scully's dad!" he said with increasing delight, looking around the others to spot his partner and quickly determining that she wasn't there. He took off and began walking around the house, heading first toward the kitchen where a young and frazzled-looking Maggie immediately brought a huge smile to his face. Maggie had been joined in the kitchen by two women who, from the similarities in their faces and apparent ages, he guessed to be her mother and sister, but there were no Scully kids to be found. The herd of young children raced by again and Mulder studied them but it was immediately obvious that none were Scully or her siblings.

"What year is this?" he asked Sam.

"1982."

Mulder quickly did the mental math. 

"So Scully's 18 right now?"

"Yes."

Now with a better idea of who to look for, Mulder continued hunting around the house which remained feeling strangely familiar, but there was no sign of any teenagers.

"Maybe look upstairs?" Sam suggested. Mulder made his way up the narrow staircase, heard voices coming from an open door and poked his head around it. Immediately, he knew he had found what he was looking for. Four teenagers were crowded into the small bedroom which, if Mulder had to guess, he'd assumed belonged to Dana and Melissa. Bill, was sat on a chair by the window wearing a UCL sweater over a collared shirt while Missy was sprawled out on a rug on the floor and had clearly embraced a punk aesthetic, she was obviously in charge of the record player which was in front of her with a stack of records beside it. Charlie, or at least Mulder assumed this must be Charlie, was also on the floor, sat with his back against the bed still in his bedclothes, and Dana was laid on her back on the bed wearing jeans and a t-shirt. The song they were all listening to ended and Dana rolled onto her side.

"My turn," she announced, reaching down to the floor and scooping up a 12" record, passing it over to Missy who began sliding the vinyl out of its cardboard sleeve.

"Do we have to?" Charlie asked, "your taste in music is awful."

"Screw you," Dana sneered, "side two, track…." she picked up the sleeve from the floor and checked it, "three."

Missy flipped the record using only her fingertips and placed it on the deck before lifting the needle and carefully dropping it down in the right spot. The record crackled but then the music started up and Mulder immediately recognized a Duran Duran song, even if he wasn't entirely sure what the title was. Dana rolled back onto the bed so she was staring at the ceiling and began singing along. Charlie grabbed the record sleeve and read the back of it.

"You would pick the longest track on the damn record," he complained.

"Yeah, that way it saves me from having to listen to whatever god awful music you're gonna subject us to for an extra few seconds," Dana hissed back, "and stop touching my stuff. I've been waiting to get that since May!" Missy burst out laughing and even Bill was grinning from his chair where he was clearly trying to pass himself off as the adult in the room.

"Kids? Can you come down and set the table, please?" Maggie's voice drifted up the stairs. Missy rolled her eyes, slithered over toward the door on her stomach and kicked it closed with her foot before upping the volume a few extra levels. Dana giggled from the bed, Bill clearly considered saying something but decided against it. Mulder got the distinct impression he was torn between wanting to prove how much of an adult he was now he was at college and wanting to still get to hang out with his siblings instead of being stuck with the adult conversations downstairs.

The song eventually drew to a close and Charlie moved to put his own record on the deck when the door opened and the imposing silhouette of William Scully appeared in the frame. Mulder couldn't help but laugh to himself as all four Scully kids immediately leaped to their feet.

"Your mother asked you all to go and set the table," he said calmly.

"Sorry Sir," Bill answered immediately.

"Sorry Dad, we mustn't have heard you over the music," Missy added. Her dad raised one eyebrow in a gesture so instantly familiar that Mulder knew this was where Scully had learned it, and Missy grinned back at him. Meanwhile, Dana and Charlie had just about managed to slip out of the door and downstairs unnoticed.

"Starbuck?" William Scully called and Dana froze on the landing.

"Yes Ahab?" she asked, her voice full of fake innocence as Charlie scooted past her and down to safety. Her dad simply looked at her and grins slowly spread across both their faces.

"Get downstairs and help your mother," he said, his smile evident in his voice as well as his features. Dana shot down the stairs after her younger brother with Bill right behind. Before Missy could escape, however, her father's hand came down on her shoulder. "Before you go down," he began, "get that safety pin out of your nose."

"But Dad.."

"But nothing. I'm overlooking the fact that your entire wardrobe looks as if it was involved in a tragic accident with a pair of pruning shears, I'm not having you eat dinner at my table with that ridiculous thing in your nose." His words were serious but his tone and expression were more amused than angry. Missy rolled her eyes and traipsed back into her bedroom and William watched her go with a generous smile on his face.

The scene dissolved and Mulder found himself looking at the dining room which was so packed full of people that Mulder worried about it becoming a fire hazard what with all the burning candles on the table. While his own family's Christmas dinner was always the height of Williams-Sonoma perfection, this meal was organized chaos. Every serving dish from at least three households had clearly been called into play, as had chairs from at least four different dining room sets. Even an extra table had somehow been squeezed into the space, that one filled with the smaller kids who had been corralled into sitting down and were now stuffing themselves with mashed potatoes. At the adult table, at least 15 people were crowded around, elbows constantly banging as they passed plates and dishes around. Dana was sat between Missy and someone Mulder assumed must be a grandparent, talking away enthusiastically between bites of turkey. William Sr. was helping Maggie carry through extra dishes of food from the kitchen, even though there didn't appear to be even an inch of space in which to put them, and Bill Jr. was telling someone who might be an uncle all about his last semester of college in detail. Mulder felt a glow as he watched the scene. 

"I see now why Scully always loves Christmas," he said to Sam. "I always wondered about that. Even after losing Emily during the holidays, it never diminished her feelings about it."

"She had this to fall back on," Sam agreed. Mulder nodded and looked around the house again from where he stood. Suddenly, something clicked into place.

"I get it now!" Sam looked at him curiously.

"Get what?"

"Why this house is so familiar to me even though I've clearly never been here before. Scully told me that the house Bill was living in when she found Emily was built to the exact same floor plan as the house she grew up in. I spent a couple of days in that house so I got to know the layout." Now, looking around, Mulder could picture Bill and Tara's house overlaid on top of this one. The experience of visiting must have been incredibly surreal for Scully and her mother and he said as much aloud.

"I'm sure it must have been," Sam agreed, "but the hour is getting late now and you still have two more Spirits to visit you."

Mulder turned to look at her.

"You mean you have to go?" The pain was evident in his voice.

"Yes. But remember, I am not your sister, merely a shadow of her image drawn from your memories."

Mulder swallowed and nodded. He looked back toward the dinner table where the young Dana Scully was now leaning across the table, laughing with her father at something unheard. He looked back at Sam.

"May I?" 

She seemed to know what he was asking and held her arms out. Mulder reached forward and hugged his little sister but after a moment he felt the nightdress go slack and when he held it out in front of him, he realized he was back in his bedroom and holding nothing more than his own blanket. Looking at the clock, he was amazed to see it read just 1:01 a.m. No time had passed at all.

Shaking his head, Mulder climbed back into bed and settled down, already hopeful to know what the next hour would bring.


	3. Chapter 3

December 25th, 1999  
2:00 a.m.

When Mulder awoke at the stroke of 2 a.m., he felt like he was beginning to get the hang of things. Noting the blueish light once again glowing under his bedroom door he repeated his actions of an hour previously, leaving the warmth of his bed to put on slippers and a dressing gown and make his way to the living room. Once again, the chair at his desk was occupied, and for the third time that night, the identity of the occupant startled him.

"I have to admit, when I imagined who might show up as the Ghost of Christmas Present, you weren't high on my list of possibilities."

Deep Throat chuckled.

"I'm sure there would have been worse options?"

"Oh naturally. So, I'm beginning to get this. 'A touch of your hand and I shall fly?' but where to?"

"Not quite, I was planning for us to simply walk out the door. But where to is up to you. Where would you like to visit first on this fine Christmas morning?"

Mulder thought about the question for less than two seconds, there was, honestly, only one person at the top of his list of people to see."

"Scully," he answered, "I'd like to see Scully celebrating with her family."

Deep Throat nodded once.

"Then let's go."

As soon as he finished speaking, light poured into the room. Not the brilliant, blinding white light that had accompanied Sam, instead, this light filtered through the closed drapes and blinds as if morning had suddenly broken over Washington in a single instant. Looking down, Mulder saw that his clothes had transformed into daywear as well. Deep Throat led him toward his front door, but on stepping through, Mulder found himself not in the corridor outside his apartment but stepping through Maggie Scully's front door.

The house was alive with activity. Christmas carols were playing on a radio somewhere, a couple of kids were sat on the living room floor playing with their new toys, groups of adults stood in clusters holding drinks and deep in conversation while delicious smells wafted through every room. Mulder followed these to the kitchen where he found Scully and Tara helping Maggie. Bill and Charlie were busily carrying serving dishes into the dining room as each item was plated up. Having never seen Charlie as an adult, Mulder was taken aback by the obvious similarity between him and Scully and it occurred to him that despite knowing that Charlie was the younger of the two, he had no idea by how much. While there was a vague family resemblance between Dana, Bill, and Missy - Dana and Charlie could be twins.

"It's such a shame that Fox couldn't be here," Maggie was saying as she tipped a huge saucepan of bright, green broccoli into a colander and shook it out over the sink.

"He could be here," Scully replied, emphasizing the second word while she tipped a second colander - this one filled with vibrant orange carrots - into a red and white serving dish, "he chooses not to be."

"Do you know why?" Tara asked, busy stirring a bowl of stuffing.

"I think this is all a bit much for him. He lost his sister close to Christmas so it's been a hard time of year for him for a long time. I think he prefers to be alone with his thoughts."

"That can't be healthy," Maggie fretted. 

"I'm sure it's not," Scully agreed, handing the carrot dish to Charlie who whisked it away into the dining room, "but Mulder has never had the same kind of huge, extended family Christmasses that we have. I think he's a bit scared by the prospect, to be honest. All these people in one place, asking him questions about his work and his family. Those aren't things he opens up about easily, especially not with relative strangers."

"Is she right?" Deep Throat asked startling Mulder who had forgotten the other man was even there. He looked over at Dana who was now scooping cranberry sauce into a silver tureen.

"Not completely. It's not an easy time of year, but that's not why I always decline her invitations to spend Christmas with her family."

"Then why?"

Mulder waved his arm in a gesture to encapsulate the entire scene before them.

"Because I don't belong here. This life, it isn't for me. I told Scully once that she should get away from me while she still could, before she ended up dead for my cause. She refused because she's too good a person but how long do you think this idyll would last if I let myself become a part of it? How long until one of her nephews ends up poisoned or her older brother is dragged into something while at sea? Just to make a point."

"You make it sound as if you're capable of infecting them with evil."

"That's how it seems. I'm a rot, as soon as I become a part of anything good, it starts to die. I think it comes with the job. Remember Bill Patterson from Behavioral Sciences? The Mostow case broke him, all those years spent living inside Mostow's head trying to understand what made him tick, he became just as twisted, it turned him into something as grotesque as the things he was hunting. I've felt that happen to me sometimes. Felt myself take that first step over the line. I won't allow myself to become a part of something good like this only to pervert it along with me."

"Perhaps," Deep Throat replied after a few moments, "it's being a part of something good that stops the darkness from taking over? Patterson was a loner, no family to go home to, no friends to unburden himself to over a couple of beers. He let the darkness in and did nothing to push it back out. But you, Fox, you have a choice. You have the opportunity to let this light into your life, to let it grow inside you and keep the darkness at bay."

Mulder looked back at the scene around him. Scully was running after one of her nephews, laughing as she chased him into his seat at the dinner table. Charlie brushed past her and said something that brought another smile to her face. She took her seat at the table beside her mother who thanked her for all the help in the kitchen, and Bill who immediately inquired after Mulder's health, apparently with genuine interest. 

Could it be as simple as that, Mulder wondered? The room was indeed filled with light. Candles glowed from holders on the table and sideboard, the large tree twinkled with hundreds of fairy lights, and, as Mulder watched, he noticed the way the lights reflected back at him from Dana's golden cross necklace. Could he just reach out and take this, become a part of it without tainting it? Allow the light he saw here to become a part of him rather than letting his own personal darkness infect his surroundings instead? He had never even allowed himself to contemplate it before.

"Come," Deep Throat said, "I have other places to show you."

Turning away from the Scully family, Mulder eyed him with interest.

"OK, I'll admit I'm curious. Lead on."

The pair turned away and Mulder followed Deep Throat back to the front door. Behind him, at the table, Dana Scully thought she caught sight of a movement in the hallway but after a moment and a quick headcount of everyone sat at the table, she shook her head and assumed her eyes must have been playing tricks on her.

When he stepped back through Maggie Scully's front door, Mulder once again found himself instantly transported across space and time to an entirely different location. Instead of the suburbs of Baltimore, he now found himself in a back alley of an industrial estate in northern DC. It was, however, a very familiar industrial estate, and the door in front of him was the most familiar part of it. The door in question was just opening and a short man in a leather waistcoat was stood before him, hair slicked back and an obnoxiously bright Christmas tie around his neck.

"Thought you'd never get here," Frohike said with a good-natured grumble.

"You can see me?" Mulder asked in confusion, but instead of a reply, Mulder felt an odd sensation and saw an arm protrude right through his torso, handing over two bags of takeaway food. He stepped to the side in alarm and saw a young man standing almost exactly where he had been stood. Frohike fished several bills from his pocket, told the young man to keep the change, wished him a Merry Christmas and began pulling the door closed as the other man turned and walked away, counting his money. Mulder and Deep Throat stepped through the Gunmen's door just in time and Mulder watched Frohike re-seal all the many locks and bolts which ran right from the floor to the ceiling.

"Do I smell Chinese food?" Langley's voice called from somewhere in the darkness.

"Sustenance has arrived!" Frohike replied, holding the bags aloft in a victory pose as Byers emerged from a room at the back carrying a stack of plates and wearing a Santa hat and an eye-wateringly awful sweater. He joined Frohike who was busy emptying all the various tubs onto the table, which for once was clear of broken computer parts, war game miniatures, and dubious magazines.

By the time Langly emerged, still wearing his bedclothes but sporting a pointy green hat and a pair of elf ears that were distinctly more Lord of the Rings than North Pole, the table was positively groaning under the weight of all the boxes of food.

"How much did you order?" Byers asked, sounding slightly aghast as he looked around.

"A bit of everything. Christmas comes but once a year," Frohike answered, opening up the tub closest to him and scooping up a large portion of chicken fried rice. Across the table, Byers had uncovered salt and pepper ribs and was stacking several on his plate, while Langly added a portion of sweet and sour pork to the egg noodles he had already piled up. For quite some time, there was little sound except that of chopsticks clicking, takeaway boxes being passed around, and Christmas music playing softly from one of the nearby computers.

"There's going to be enough left over to feed half of DEFCON," Byers said through a mouthful of his third helping of rice.

"I got enough for Mulder too," Frohike replied through his own mouthful, "just in case."

"You know he never comes over," Langy said, "he'd rather be alone at Christmas."

"Even so, we can take him some of the leftovers in the morning. Nothing better than day-old Chinese food to munch on the day after Christmas." The others hummed their agreement.

Eventually, they all admitted defeat. The takeaway boxes were resealed and piled carefully in the fridge. Beers were extracted and handed around, and the guys retired to the very old, very worn couch in their main living area, their feet propped up on the ancient coffee table that held their games consoles.

"Gentlemen," Langly announced, "I think it's time."

"Oh yes," Frohike agreed, "a very merry Christmas to all of us!"

Langly placed a box down on the table and removed a stack of brand new video games from within, laying each one out on the table so they could all admire the covers. 'Gran Turismo 2', 'Tomb Raider: The Last Revelation', and 'Grand Theft Auto 2' sat there, all in shiny new cases. The guys agreed upon an opening game of 'Gran Turismo' and soon had their controllers set up and were fully engaged in selecting cars and arguing over which race track to pick first.

"Mulder's gonna love this," Byers decided after a few races when he was deep into his second beer.

"Think he's gonna love 'Tomb Raider' even more, have you seen those new graphics?" Frohike suggested, adding a wolf-whistle for emphasis.

"Oh come on, when he's got Scully with him practically 24/7?" Byers snorted.

"Last time I checked, Scully didn't go to work in hot pants and a skin-tight lycra tank top."

"More's the pity," Frohike muttered, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from Byers. "Seriously though, we should have made more of an effort to persuade him to come over today. He doesn't need to be sitting around in his apartment by himself. It can't lead to anything good."

"Nobody should be alone at Christmas," Langly agreed.

"Even lonely old farts like us," Frohike agreed.

"Hear hear," Byers laughed, raising his beer. "To Fox Mulder, and all the other loners eating Christmas dinner alone today."

"To Mulder!" the others cheered, raising their own bottles then cursing as their cars inevitably skidded off the track on the game.

"Next year, we don't take no for an answer, we'll drag him over here no matter what," Langly announced.

"Bet you Scully would loan us something out of her medical bag, she's gotta have some Mulder-strength sedatives she keeps around. Lord knows she must need them from time to time!"

The guys all laughed in agreement.

"We'll stuff him full of Chinese food and beer, stick a Santa hat on him and by the end of the night I bet he'll be full of the joys of the season."

"He'll be full of something alright. Ways to skin us alive no doubt."

"He's our friend, he deserves to have a day off from his brooding now and again. Watch it!"

Langly cursed as Frohike's car cut across him and took the lead, sailing across the finish line to take first place.

"My Kung fu is undefeated," Frohike announced, beer in the air and the guys all laughed.

"Come on, let's break out the Christmas cake Scully brought us," Byers said, "before we're all too drunk to appreciate it."

The three Gunmen loudly got up and made their way to the kitchen, joking and laughing as they went.

"Why didn't you want to spend Christmas with them?" Deep Throat asked Mulder. 

"I just assumed that they only invited me out of pity, not because they actually wanted me here," Mulder replied, watching them go. 

"Why did you think that?"

"I think I already made my opinions about myself abundantly clear."

"The Gunmen are already deeply involved in your world though," Deep Throat argued, "they know the risks and have accepted them. In fact, they invite them willingly through their own work."

Mulder thought about it.

"I always feel like an intruder when I'm here," he added.

"I see a fourth controller sitting unused by that games console, clearly your friends see things differently."

Mulder looked over and realized that Deep Throat was right. A fourth controller was sitting, unused, by the side of the television, plugged in so that it was fully charged and ready to go.

"I suppose I just never really thought about it before. I just assumed that nobody really wanted me with them at Christmas, that I was nothing more than a burden to them, one they felt obligated to invite into their festivities but were always crossing their fingers behind their backs that I'd say no."

"Do you still feel that way?"

Mulder fixed the older man with a penetrating look. Slowly, a smile crept over his face.

"I think I'm beginning to see things a little differently."

"Good." 

Deep Throat turned to look into the Gunmen's kitchen where Byers was carefully cutting slices of cake and easing them onto plates. "We have one final stop to make this evening if you're ready?"

"Lead on Macduff," Mulder said, "although getting back through that door may be a challenge."

"I'm sure we'll find a way," Deep Throat replied. As they walked toward the door, Mulder felt the room dissolve around him and another, equally familiar location reformed in its place.

"It's Christmas Day and you're bringing me to work?" Mulder quipped as the unmistakable interior of a conference room at FBI headquarters materialized around him. Formed entirely from mass-produced panels in shades of grey, these rooms were distinctive only for their total lack of any distinctive features. Today, however, the room did look a little different to normal. A small plastic Christmas tree had been placed on a table in the corner and somebody had strung cheap and shiny decorations from the central light fixture to the filing cabinets dotted around the room. The tables and chairs had been pushed to the sides to leave an open space in the middle and at least some of the tables had plates of buffet food on them. Several dozen FBI agents were milling around, some wearing Santa hats or Christmas ties along with their suits, and a few brave souls were braving Christmas sweaters despite the room being hotter than a roasting turkey.

Mulder spotted Skinner wandering around the room, making small talk with several agents, most of whom Mulder recognized by name only. Skinner was sporting a tie with a large picture of Rudolf on it and a flashing red nose, he had a paper plate in one hand that he had loaded with turkey and sausage and potatoes and he was balancing a glass of orange juice in the other.

"Tasteful" Mulder deadpanned, indicating Skinner's tie. "Think he's getting hazard pay for wearing that to work?" Deep Throat chuckled to himself, but Mulder had frowned. "What day is it?" he asked.

"Today? Why today is Christmas Day," Deep Throat replied with a sly smile. Mulder shot him a sarcastic look.

"Then why is Skinner here at the Hoover building?" Mulder asked, the question was aimed more at himself than at Deep Throat, "he has today off. I know because he invited me to his apartment for lunch."

Without waiting for an answer, he strode off in Skinner's direction in hopes of overhearing something that would solve the mystery. He reached Skinner at almost exactly the same moment as A.D. Cassidy who was balancing her own paper plate in one hand and who had also sourced a glass of something sparkling from somewhere.

"I didn't see that on the buffet line," Skinner said, indicating the glass.

"Ah, I have my secretary to thank for this," she said with a smile, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Skinner replied, raising his own glass. The two of them paused and each took a small sip of their drinks.

"I didn't think you were in today," Cassidy continued between bites. 

"I wasn't originally, but my plans fell through."

"Oh I'm sorry to hear that," did your family get caught up in the snowstorm? I hear Dulles is still closed."

"No no, I'd invited a friend over for lunch but he couldn't make it, so I figured I may as well be here and let one of the other directors with kids have the day instead. It's usually a quiet day anyway so it's not much of a hardship. How about you?"

"Oh well, my daughter is spending Christmas with her in-laws in Kentucky this year and my husband is on shift at the hospital so I didn't see the point in sitting home alone. We had the family together for Thanksgiving and I'll see my granddaughter in a few days when they fly home."

Skinner nodded and the two fell silent, each eating their buffet food. Mulder felt Deep Throat step up beside him.

"He took the day off just to have lunch with me."

"That surprises you?"

"Well.. yeah. It's not exactly like we're close."

"The man pulled every string in the book to fly you out to an Antarctic research station at a moment's notice. He's supported you through everything, at the cost of his own safety."

"He has principals. He cares about the truth, and about justice. He supports the X-Files department, not me personally."

"Surely at this point, you're one and the same?"

Mulder went to argue but couldn't think of what to say in reply. Instead, he turned back to Skinner and surveyed the man with new insight. He'd offered to take the day off work simply to spend it with Mulder so the two of them didn't have to be alone at Christmas. Somehow, despite all the pulled strings, threats in hospital hallways, and dangerous visits to their shared enemies on Mulder's behalf, that simple gesture seemed to shine out as more meaningful than anything that had come before. 

As Skinner made his apologies to AD Cassidy and went to chat with Chuck Burke who had just arrived and was piling his plate high with a veritable mountain of turkey, Mulder leaned back against the wall and thought. He had always assumed that the invitations he received at Christmas to spend the day with others were about little more than pity. Pity for the sad, lonely man who would otherwise spend the holidays alone in his bare apartment. It had never occurred to him, perhaps he had never allowed himself to entertain the thought, that the offers might come from someplace else. From a genuine desire to spend time with him. Not from people wanting to make themselves feel good for extending the invitation, but wanting to make him feel good. The thought dumbfounded him and he found himself staring at the carpet, not knowing what to do next.

"I think perhaps, my task is complete," Deep Throat said, coming to stand beside him. Mulder looked up at him.

"One more spirit to go right?"

"Right."

A cold chill from somewhere made him shudder.

"I know this story. I know what's coming next and I'm not sure if I'm ready to face that."

"No one ever is."

"But I have to go with them?"

"If you want to learn all you can from this night, yes."

"Haven't I learned enough?"

"Do you think so?"

Mulder fell silent, unsure of how to answer. Deep Throat smiled that warm almost fatherly smile that had so enamored Mulder the first time they had met.

"Go forth, and know him better man," the older man said with a wink, and as he did so. Mulder realized he was again, back in his bedroom where the clock still read 2:01 a.m. Climbing back between the covers, Mulder couldn't help but feel tense. He had watched many adaptations of 'A Christmas Carol' over the years, from 'Scrooged' to the Muppets to Alastair Simm's black and white classic and all of them agreed on a single point: the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come was a horrifying specter. Even Scully had admitted to him once that she found the third spirit creepy when they had watched one movie version together - and it took a lot to freak her out. But Deep Throat had been right. He had come this far and learned so much during the evening so far, surely this third spirit would have even more lessons for him to learn, no matter how terrifying it was?

Gathering his nerves together, Mulder pulled his blanket up over his head and tried to get some more sleep. The clock would be striking three before he knew it.


	4. Chapter 4

December 25th, 1999  
3.00 am

When Mulder awoke for the third time, he immediately felt a chill creep over him, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The bluish light was back again under the door but whereas the last two times it had seemed the blue of a crisp winter's morning, sunlight bouncing off new-fallen snow, this time it seemed closer to the cold blue light of a morgue and the air felt stale around him. Shuddering, Mulder wrapped his dressing gown around him tighter than before and paused to put on warm socks inside his slippers, before he ventured from his bedroom.

The thing that awaited him in his living room was that for which the word abomination had been invented. It was formed from dark smoke which roiled and seethed in the approximate shape of a man, and Mulder was sure he smelled the scent of tobacco amidst the char and death that surrounded it. The thing had no face, yet Mulder was certain it faced toward him.

"Are you the Spirit of Christmas Future?" he asked, ashamed at how thin and nervous his voice sounded even to him.

The thing nodded. Mulder swallowed hard.

"Then please, lead the way."

The thing bowed and began to make its way toward the door. Rather than walking, it simply glided across the floor leaving no trace behind except the smell of rot in the air. When it reached the door, it did not stop but passed straight through it. Mulder went to follow, expecting to pass through just as easily and was surprised when he collided with the door instead. Rubbing his head, he was reminded of the previous Christmas Eve.

"Door, or brick wall?" he muttered to himself, taking hold of the handle and pulling the door open.

Instead of the hall beyond, Mulder found himself looking into a board room. The walls were mostly covered in nondescript wooden panels and the floor in an equally dull threadbare grey carpet. Centered in the room was a long, highly polished wooden table, around which were nearly a dozen leather office chairs, and at the far end, two flags hung limply from poles: the Stars and Stripes beside a blue flag bearing the official seal of the FBI. Someone had clearly attempted to inject some festive cheer into the room as some limp, shiny decorations were hung at random from the ceiling. From the look of them, Mulder suspected the same ones had been used since Hoover himself had last left the building.

The air in the room was hung with smoke, and Mulder noticed that the man sitting in the furthest chair, right at the head of the table between the two flags, was the Smoking Man. To Mulder's annoyance, Spender seemed happy, joyous even, as did the men around him. He reached down into his briefcase and withdrew a clearly expensive box of cigars. Opening them, he passed the box to the man on his right.

"Celebrations are in order gentlemen," he said, "please, take one. My Christmas present to you all on this most joyous of Christmasses."

"Our lives just became a whole lot simpler," a portly man piped up with glee in his voice.

"I just returned from his office," a slick-haired man added, looking smug.

"I hope you brought me something to remember him by," Spender said with a smile that turned Mulder's stomach.

"The contents of his hard drive," the slick-haired man replied, handing over a box, "lest anyone should think to copy it."

"Good, good," Spender said accepting the box, "and you?" He turned to the man beside him.

"The item you requested Sir." He handed over a picture frame and Mulder started forward instinctively.

"Give that back!" he yelled, reaching to grab the framed picture of his sister from Spender's grip and gasping as his hand passed straight through it. Frozen for a moment, he watched as Spender looked deeply into the picture and then placed it beside the hard drive in his briefcase.

"Very good gentlemen," Spender said, closing the briefcase and standing up, "I'm sure you have better places to be today. Merry Christmas to you all."

There were a few mumbled "Merry Christmas Sirs" in response as Spender left but as soon as the door closed, the men turned to one another and began hushed conversations. Mulder turned to the Spirit which loomed by the door he had apparently entered by. It turned and disappeared through it the way Spender had just gone. Bracing himself, Mulder crossed the room and tried the handle. It felt solid in his hand so he pulled it and stepped through the doorway.

Mulder recognized where he was immediately, even though it was not where he had expected to find himself. Rather than Maggie's large, brightly lit home, Mulder instead found himself looking around Scully's apartment. To his surprise and immediate concern, it was not decorated. The obnoxiously large tree she insisted on erecting every year was nowhere to be seen, nor were there any presents in the room or even a token snowman ornament on display. Mulder turned to check the date on the thermostat and noted that it did indeed read December 25th.

The apartment was dark, even though it was clearly daytime outside so Mulder made his way carefully across the room in the direction of Scully's bedroom. The Spirit stayed where it was, lingering by the door and looking like a malevolent shadow. The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar, and Mulder slid inside easily. Scully was sat up in bed, her eyes red and her hair a mess. A box of tissues was sat on the table beside her, with more scattered around. At first, Mulder worried that she was sick, but as he watched for a few seconds, he realized that rather than sick, she was instead utterly heartbroken. As he watched, her shoulders began to shake and she reached for another tissue, furiously wiping her eyes as she broke down into a gut-wrenching fit of sobs.

"Oh, honey."

Mulder jumped at the sound of Maggie's voice as she emerged from the bathroom and went to quickly sit beside her daughter, wrapping her arms around Dana's shaking form. What was left of Scully's resolve fell away and she wept deeply into her mother's shoulder while Maggie stroked her hair.

"Come on," she said quietly once Scully's sobs had calmed to a slightly more controlled level, "I ran the bath you asked for. I got the water as hot as I could stand it and I left all your things by the edge. I know it won't be much but I promise you'll feel better once you've washed your hair and put on some fresh clothes."

Scully nodded mutely and allowed Maggie to pull back the covers and coerce her toward the bathroom door.

"You should go, Mom," Scully said in a voice so quiet and childlike, Mulder could hardly believe it came from his partner. "It's Christmas Day, you should be with your grandkids."

Maggie fixed her with a stern look. 

"No. I should be here, with you. Bill and Tara are perfectly capable of hosting Christmas without my help, and all the children will be so preoccupied with their new toys that they'll barely even notice I'm gone. Besides, they'll all still be there tomorrow and the day after that. I have plenty of time to spend with them this Christmas." Scully went to argue but her mother held up a hand. "Christmas is supposed to be a time to help those in need. This Christmas, my daughter is the person who needs me, and so this is where I'll be."

The two women stared at one another, and after a few moments, Mulder saw the faintest ghost of a smile flicker across Scully's face. She knew when she had lost. She shuffled toward the bathroom and closed the door behind her. In the silence that followed, Mulder heard a faint splash from the room beyond, a sound he recognized from years of staying in adjoining motel rooms as the sound of his partner climbing into a bathtub filled with scalding hot water. 

Maggie sighed heavily, a long and almost painful sound, and leaned back against the doorframe. She seemed to count to five, giving herself a moment to collect her thoughts, then straightened up and made for the living room where she picked up the landline and dialed. Even though he felt slightly guilty for eavesdropping, Mulder followed her. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Spirit still hovering where he had left it, and he suppressed another shudder. It was as if the spirit of death itself was lurking in the corner.

"Bill?" Maggie's voice broke into his thoughts and he turned back to her and away from the evil specter.

"Mom?" Bill's voice came through the tinny speaker, "Hey, Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas to you too," Maggie replied, a genuine smile lightening her face, "how are things?"

"Everything's shipshape here," Bill reported, "turkey prep commenced at oh-six hundred hours and we are on course for dinner as planned."

"That's wonderful," Maggie said, "and the kids?"

"Filled with sugar and attempting to demolish your house from the foundations up," Bill chuckled before falling silent. A few moments passed, "how's Dana?"

Maggie sighed again and Mulder saw tears in her eyes. "Not good," she admitted. "I persuaded her to take a bath and put some clean clothes on but she hasn't eaten, I can barely even interest her in drinking water. It's like a part of her is just gone."

"She's in shock," Bill said gently, "it'll pass."

"I hope so. Right now I'm afraid to leave her alone."

"You don't think she'd… follow him? Do you?" Bill sounded worried.

"Honestly... I don't know. I don't even think she knows." Silence fell again, heavier this time.

"You gonna stay there again tonight then?" Bill asked.

"Yes, I think I need to. I'll call again later and talk to the kids. I'll try and get Dana to talk to you but please don't be upset if she won't."

"I won't. Wish her a Merry Christmas from us, won't you? Tell her Matthew asked after her."

"I'll do that. Now, go enjoy your Christmas dinner."

"OK Mom, speak to you later, bye."

The phone went dead. Maggie put it down and sat on the sofa, her own eyes red as she wiped at them with her sleeve. Mulder found that he couldn't watch. Instead, he moved back toward the Smoke.

"What did I do to hurt her so bad?" he asked, even though he felt like he remembered this part of the story. The Spirit pointed toward the door. Mulder nodded slowly and looked back into the room. Maggie was sat curled on the sofa and Scully shuffled in from the bathroom. Her wet hair was falling limply down her back, still dripping into the silk pajamas she had put on - a different pair from the ones she was wearing earlier, clearly just to appease her mother. She padded almost silently across to sit beside her mother. When she broke down, Maggie did too and the two women fell into one another's arms, grief-strick sobs filling the air of the dimly lit room. Mulder couldn't stand it anymore. He turned, opened the door, and walked through it.

Mulder found himself in a graveyard on a cold, starless night. A light snow had fallen earlier and left a white dusting on the stones around him and the air was bitterly cold. Looking around, Mulder saw four figures in the distance. He looked at the Spirit who merely pointed in the direction of the figures so Mulder began making his way toward them. As he drew closer, feet crunching on the ground, Mulder realized he was looking at Skinner and the Gunmen. The four men were huddled together, coats pulled tight around their bodies and collars turned up against the biting wind. Frohike was swaying slightly and Mulder saw him surreptitiously slipping a hip flask in and out of his pocket.

"I'm just so angry with him," Byers was saying to Skinner, "the mess he's left behind. The state Scully's in, I don't understand how he could have done that to her. But then I feel guilty for thinking those thoughts. The amount of pain he must have been in to do that, he must have felt there was no other way."

"Have you seen Scully lately?" Langly asked from Skinner's other side. Skinner nodded slightly, although the gesture was nearly masked by his shivering from the cold.

"I visited yesterday, her mother's still staying with her. She didn't say much. There's nothing behind her eyes. Honestly, it scared me so I made my excuses and left quickly. I feel bad about it now."

"I felt the same," Byers added, "I couldn't stand to see her like that. I can't imagine it's what he would have wanted."

"Gave up his right to tell us what he wanted when he left all behind us didn't he?" Frohike growled, swigging from the hip flask more openly now. "Selfish bastard doing that to her."

"Shut it," Langly snapped back with more genuine malice than Mulder had ever heard from him, "you don't know what was going on in his head. He was sick, he believed it was for the best for everyone - her included. He…"

Frohike threw his hip flask down onto the ground in front of the grave and stormed away. The others watched him go.

"Should we go after him?" Langly asked.

"No," Byers rumbled, "let him sober up."

"That might take some time."

Byers and Langly exchanged looks. Skinner rubbed the back of his neck.

"I should go," he muttered.

"Yeah," Byers sighed and looked back at the gravestone, "I guess we should too. Not much good we can do here is there?"

The three men exchanged perfunctory farewells and separated, each trudging away in a different direction across the frosty ground. Even Byers and Langly didn't leave together Mulder noted, he wondered if the Gunmen's friendship could weather this storm. Cautiously, he made his way around the gravestone the men had been clustered around. Even knowing exactly what it would say, he still felt sick upon reading the words engraved into the cold, hard stone.

Fox William Mulder  
October 13th, 1961 - December 24th, 2000  
Beloved Son, Brother, and Friend.  
Acts 26:8

He sank to his knees before the stone and ran his finger along the engraved letters of his name.

"I would never have believed it," he said to himself quietly, although he sensed the Spirit was listening to him from where it still hovered in the distance. "I always assumed they all tolerated me. Put up with Spooky Mulder because he was good for a punchline or out of some weird and misguided sense of loyalty. I always thought in the back of my head that if I was gone, they would breathe a sigh of relief and get back to normal lives. I never imagined this…"

He looked back toward the Spirit, but it had vanished. He stood up from the frozen ground and turned to look for it, but as he moved, the graveyard dissolved around him and Mulder found himself standing alone in his living room. Disorientated, he looked at the clock which read 3.01am. If he got straight off to bed, he could get in a solid four hours before he needed to be up if he was going to make it. Smiling to himself and feeling more light-hearted than he could remember since his childhood, Mulder made his way toward his bed. In the corner of his eye, he thought he caught a glimpse of a floral nightdress by his office chair, but when he turned to look, there was nothing there.


	5. Chapter 5

December 25th, 1999  
7.05 am

When Mulder awoke for the final time that morning, he realized things were different. Morning sunshine was glowing from the window, and there was no blue light casting a haze around his bedroom door. Carefully making his way into the living room, he double checked his office chair but was unsurprised to find it vacant. He brewed himself a cup of coffee while he considered what he had to do. First there were calls to make, then a number of people he wanted to visit before reaching his final intended destination. As he planned out his day, he felt an excitement buzzing inside him that he couldn't remember since childhood. He let a genuine smile cross his face, something he hadn't expected would happen at all this Christmas and here it was happening before he'd even finished his morning coffee.

Mulder quickly showered, dressed in his finest (jeans and a shirt rather than a full top hat and tails but the intention was the same) and began gathering together the gifts on his desk into piles for their appropriate destinations. As he did, he dialled a number on his phone.

"Fox?" his mother sounded surprised, "is everything alright?"

"Yes, yes, everything's fine Mom. I just wanted to call and wish you a Merry Christmas, that's all."

"Oh! Merry Christmas to you too dear. I wasn't expecting to hear from you today after we spoke last night."

"Honestly, I hadn't planned to call but I had a… a strange dream and I realized I should probably make the effort."

"Well it's lovely to hear your voice this Christmas morning. We're just getting ready to head out to church."

"I'm about to go out too, I decided to go and see some people rather than spending the day at home alone. How about I call again this evening and we can talk about our days?"

His mother sounded completely taken aback.

"That would be wonderful Fox. I'll look forward to hearing from you."

"Have a great Christmas Mom."

"You too Fox."

They both hung up and Mulder realized his smile was back again. He made another quick, yet vitally important call, before pulling on his coat, hat, and shoes over his thickest socks and heading out into the snowy Washington morning, a bag of presents in hand.

The streets were mostly empty as Mulder made his way to Crystal City and nearly all the businesses were closed. Thankfully, Mulder found an open convenience store and was able to pick up the few items he needed. When Skinner opened his apartment door, he couldn't disguise the look of total surprise on his face. 

"Mulder?" he frowned, squinting slightly as if unsure of what he was seeing, "what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to catch you before you went into the office," Mulder said, holding up the bag of items from the store, "as I won't be able to have Christmas lunch with you today, I thought maybe we could do breakfast instead?"

Skinner looked even more surprised, yet he nodded and stepped back to allow Mulder inside. After removing his coat, Mulder joined Skinner in the kitchen and together they tipped out the content of the bag and began to cook, frying bacon, sausage, and eggs, warming up cinnamon rolls, and brewing fresh coffee. Finally, they sat down to eat and by the time he had tried a bit of everything, Mulder was so stuffed he didn't feel as if he could eat another bite.

Skinner leant back in his chair and groaned.

"I'm not going to eat for a week."

Mulder laughed and leant back in his own chair in solidarity.

"Thank you for this Mulder," Skinner said suddenly serious, "Christmas just hasn't been the same since I lost Sharon and this, this has been nice."

"You're welcome Sir," Mulder replied, standing up and stretching, "thank you for the invitation to lunch. I'm afraid I need to head off now though, more Christmas cheer to spread. I hope the luncheon at headquarters goes well."

Skinner paused in his search for door keys. "How did you know I was planning to go in for the office Christmas lunch?"

Mulder hesitated, remembering what he had seen during his visit with the second Spirit.

"Just a hunch."

Skinner looked a little suspicious but saw him to the door without questioning it and the two exchanged wrapped gifts and Chrstmas wishes before Mulder left and made his way down to his car. The traffic hadn't increased in the hour or so he had spent with Skinner and he made his way to the Lone Gunmen's offices in record time.

When Frohike opened the door to him, he took one step forward and immediately wrapped Mulder in a rib-cracking hug. Mulder caught a slight scent of alcohol and guessed that the three Gunmen had already cracked open something stronger than would normally be appropriate at this early hour. 

"Dude, you came," Frohike croaked, finally releasing Mulder and ushering him inside where Langly and Byers offered slightly less enthusiastic if no less heartfelt greetings.

"I did," Mulder agreed, "though I can't stay too long, there's somewhere else I need to be soon."

"You'll at least stay for a short while?" Langly said, "we just gave one another a bunch of new games and we were about to try them out."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Once the front door had been re-sealed, the four of them dropped onto the threadbare couch and spent a solid ten minutes passing game cases back and forth between themselves, discussing the reviews they had read, and the rumours of even better technology to come. Eventually they opted to dive into 'Gran Turismo 2' and Mulder spent a highly enjoyable few hours racing against the guys in a tournament, one he found increasingly to his advantage given that he had to drive again soon and was therefore the only one not drinking. 

Finally, after soundly defeating Langly for the third time in a row, Mulder checked the time and realised he had been playing far longer than he thought.

"Sorry boys but I'm gonna have to head out."

"Rematch soon?" Langly asked as Mulder pulled his coat back on.

"You're on," Mulder assured him. The guys led him to the door, wished him endless Christmas joy and waved him goodbye as he set off on his third and final journey of the day.

When he pulled up outside Maggie's house, Mulder sat in his car for some time. He wasn't exactly nervous about going inside, however, it occurred to him that this was one of those rare moments in life where you knew as you experienced something that you would forever remember it as a threshold between then and now. Eventually, he gathered himself together and got out of the car, gathering up a small pile of packages from the back seat before heading up the path and ringing the doorbell. 

It only took Maggie a few moments to answer and, as she did, Mulder was greeted by a wall of sounds and smells. The scent of roast turkey mixed with cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie, and in the background Mulder could hear laughter and music.

"Fox," Maggie said with genuine delight, stepping forward to hg him,"I'm so glad you called. Come on in."

"Thank you, I hope this isn't too much of an imposition?"

"Not at all, my door is always open to you."

He followed Maggie inside, kicked off his shoes and peered around the door into the living room. There were people everywhere and right in the middle, sitting on the floor with a screwdriver as she helped extract a shiny new toy from its packaging, was Scully.

"Look who's here!" Maggie called over the din, causing everyone to look at the door and spot Mulder. All the nerves he had been pretending not to have came rushing in and Mulder was certain his face had turned a shade close to beetroot. All the adults called out their welcomes and wished him a Merry Christmas, none of them seemed surprised to see him (Mulder suspected Maggie may have warned them in advance) - all except Scully who looked about as shocked as Scrooge's nephew Fred when old Ebeneezer himself had appeared at his door bearing gifts. The people in the room turned back to their conversations and Maggie made her way back to the kitchen, but Scully extracted herself and came to join Mulder in the hallway, after he had deposited his meagre quantity of gifts beside the tree.

"Mulder? I can't believe you're here," Scully said, clearly stunned.

"It was a last minute decision," Mulder admitted.

"What changed your mind?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Scully raised one eyebrow at him and Mulder instantly remembered the way her father had done the same, way back on a Christmas Day in 1982.

"Let's just say I had some visitors last night who helped me change my perspective on Christmas."

The eyebrow arched slightly higher.

"You're not going to try and tell me you had visits from three spirits last night?"

"Four actually, and I think they were more like ghosts than spirits."

"Mulder, I think you've been watching too many adaptations of a Christmas Carol."

Mulder laughed and reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a small wrapped gift that he had held back from the pile by the tree.

"Merry Christmas Scully."

Scully grinned and took it, before reaching down and pulling up a gift from a nearby table. She handed it to him.

"Merry Christmas Mulder."

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in getting this final chapter up, the holidays combined with some unexpected health issues kept me from getting it completed. Happy New Year to all!


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